


There is Just One Thing I Need

by remivel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Episode: s05e04 The End, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:17:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remivel/pseuds/remivel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was alone. Nobody would be coming back for him, not even Dean. That was how it was nowadays, and Castiel never expected to be rescued. He doubted if he would even be missed. But now it was snowing, and soon, he wouldn't even have anything left of his grace to keep him warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is Just One Thing I Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueLioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueLioness/gifts).



Castiel shivered as he walked, bundling himself tighter in the bright orange jacket he pilfered from one of the dead Croats. It was the only jacket that looked even remotely warm, and he murmured an apology to the dead body before he took it and put it on. It shouldn't even be snowing in this part of the country, but then again, the world wasn't as it should be anymore. 

It was probably not one of his brightest moments when he decided to act as bait for the Croats while Dean and the others escaped back to Camp Chitaqua. It was a good enough plan, except luring the Croats used up a lot of what was left of his grace, and now he was basically running on empty. Soon, there wouldn't be anything left of his grace to keep him warm, and he would be spending his first winter as a human. 

But now, the danger had passed, and Castiel was left to make his way back to camp. No one would be coming back to rescue him, that much he was certain. To Dean and the others, he was as good as dead. If he came back alive, they'd welcome him. If he didn't, they'd go about their daily lives as if he never existed. That was the way things were and he accepted it. 

The snow turned into a steady curtain of white falling from the sky, and soon the strong winds forced Castiel to seek shelter under a broken bridge. Maybe it was too cold even for the Croats and the demons, because there was no one else in sight, which was a small blessing in itself. He would continue his trek back to the camp in the morning. At the rate he was going, it might take him another couple of days to get there. That was fine. He wasn't in any rush. 

There under the rubble, Castiel closed his eyes and clasped his hands. Despite knowing that his brothers and sisters had abandoned him, he still prayed to them. He didn't know if they could still hear him, but he talked to them anyway. It was a source of comfort for him. Comfort and hope. Because, maybe if they listened to his stories, maybe they'd get to see humanity through his eyes. Maybe they'd change their minds. Maybe they'd come back and help set things right. 

It was a long shot, but he did it anyway. He shared to them all the courage and strength he saw in the survivors back at camp, of orphans taking care of the younger kids, of people that have lost nearly everything and yet still ready to give all they had. He also told them about himself, what he did with his day and what he felt, and tried to describe to them all the new things he experienced as his grace slowly left him. The pain of a punch to the gut, the sting of the cold on his skin, the ache of loneliness in his chest. 

He couldn't recall at what point he fell asleep, because before this, he hadn't known what sleep felt like. In his dream, he was sitting at a table filled with food. It wasn't a house he was in... it was more like a basement. A bunker. And it was Christmas. There was a sweet voice of someone singing 'baby, all I want for Christmas is you' coming from the radio. There were festive green and red stockings tacked to the wall, and a tree was brightly lit and decorated with a combination of colorful baubles and car air fresheners to the side. 

He felt a hand cover his on the table, and when he turned around, his jaw instantly dropped. 

Dean was there, smiling, his eyes bright, and his shoulders relaxed. He looked younger, happier, like the weight of his problems wasn't bringing him down. He could hardly remember the last time he saw Dean like this. Castiel looked down at Dean's hand holding his like it was the most natural thing in the world. He could hardly remember the last time Dean did this too, the last time he touched Castiel like this outside of the four walls of his cabin. It threw Castiel for a loop. 

“I take it back, Cas. This whole Christmas thing isn't so bad after all,” Dean said, grinning. The smile on his face and the crinkles on the corners of his eyes were a sight to behold. 

“You should've heard yourself, Dean. You sounded like the Grinch.” 

That was Sam's voice, Castiel realized. He turned to the other side of the table, and sure enough, there was Sam. Sweet Sam with his wide smile and caring nature. He extended his hand to Castiel, and Castiel looked down to see a bowl of mashed potatoes being offered to him. Castiel felt his chest ache. 

“Come on, Cas, you haven't eaten anything yet,” Sam said. 

Castiel accepted the potatoes as if he were on automatic, still unable to comprehend what he was seeing. 

“Turkey's ready. God, I can't believe you guys started eating without me,” another voice chimed in. 

It was an Asian kid. 

“Kevin Tran, the future prophet” Castiel whispered. He was supposed to be a prophet... he died with most of the other future prophets when the first wave of the Croatoan virus hit. It was terrible. 

“Yeah, that's my name, Castiel,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes. “And pretty sure I'm already the prophet. Unless you're not telling me something,” he looked at Castiel suspiciously. 

Castiel gaped. 

Kevin shook his head. “Alright guys, eat up,” he said, before he sat down across from Castiel and started getting his food. 

Castiel looked around the table, seeing everything as if in slow motion. It all felt so real, sitting at this table as he was right now. He could feel the warmth of the room, smell the different fragrances of the food in front of him. He could hear the laughter of the people around him ringing in his ears. Everything felt so happy and so real. Had he died already? Is this what his heaven would look like now? 

“What are you doing Cas? It looks like you've seen a ghost,” he heard Dean say, felt Dean squeeze his hand as he spoke. 

Castiel looked at Dean again and he felt his chest tighten even more. Oh Dean, his beautiful Dean, whose soul burned so bright even as hellfire and demons surrounded it. His soul burned just as bright now, brighter than it had ever been. “Dean...” he said, barely unable to make a sound. 

“Is it the ghost of Christmas past, present, or future?” Dean said, chuckling. 

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. “No,” Castiel answered. “It's... it’s the ghost of a Christmas that would never come to pass.” 

+++ 

Castiel awoke with a jolt. It was the middle of the night and the wind was still howling. He felt colder than ever, and there was something funny with his eyes. He couldn't focus them very well. He still had some of his grace. His senses shouldn't be this dulled. 

He brought a hand to his face and realized his eyesight was fine. It was only the tears flowing from his eyes that blurred his vision. 

“ _Ah, brothers, sisters, so these are tears...”_

+++ 

Castiel couldn't continue to sleep after that. He really didn't know how to anyway, since he was still pretty new to the whole sleeping thing. 

He continued walking as soon as daylight began to creep through the clouds, and didn't stop until the sun was almost completely gone. He would've continued on into the night, thinking that the cold couldn't be worse than the night before. But oh, that grumbling in his stomach was starting to get uncomfortable. He tried to ignore it for most of the day, but now it was almost too painful not to notice. He looked up to the sky, imagining his brothers and sisters looking on. 

“ _I'm feeling hungry. It's unpleasant, like someone's digging a hole through my stomach.”_

There was an abandoned farmhouse in the horizon, and Castiel made his way there, hoping against all hope that there was something there to eat. His heart sank when he saw that the place had been thoroughly ransacked. He went through the cupboards but found nothing, wincing as his stomach gave another loud grumble. He tried searching the house instead for something to keep him warm. There were a bunch of tattered drapes in the living room that looked like they'd be thick enough to provide him warmth through the night. He curled up in a corner and bundled himself in the drapes, and he was thankful that it did the trick. For once his skin didn't feel like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny ice needles. 

He spent the night there, not sleeping, just thinking about food, of burgers and fries, beer and beef jerky, and pies: apple, strawberry rhubarb, pecan... all the things Dean loved to eat. He thought about Dean too, how he was doing back at camp. Would he at least wonder where Castiel was? Would he be waiting for him to return? And if he didn't return... would he mourn for him? 

“No,” Castiel whispered to himself. “Dean won't,” he said, shaking his head. That wasn't how Dean was. Not his Dean. Maybe the Dean in his dreams, the one who still had Sam and who still had the ability to laugh and be happy. The one who still had the ability to love Castiel. 

+++ 

Castiel continued walking at the break of dawn the next day. He entered a town, and Castiel knew enough to keep his guard up in case there were Croats or demons hiding in the buildings. Walking blindly on the snow-covered streets, Castiel was careful to make any noise, until his boot crunched down loudly on glass. He froze, listening for any tell-tale sounds of approaching enemies, but there were none. 

Looking down on the pavement, he saw that he had stepped on a broken bottle of beer. Glancing to the building beside him, he realized it was a liquor store. 

Remembering once how Dean told him about alcohol keeping you warm, and thinking that alcohol in his stomach would be better than nothing at all, Castiel entered the liquor store through the broken display window and tried to see if there was anything left to drink. 

A small cabinet was saved from looters by the fallen shelves that hid it completely from view, and in it was a box of a dozen bottles of rum. He took the whole box out and without thinking twice, he opened a bottle and chugged it all in one go. 

“It's not so bad,” Castiel said to himself as he opened another bottle. If he tried hard enough, he might actually feel his body getting warmer. He promised to leave a few bottles for Dean and the crew to enjoy even as he opened his third bottle. 

+++ 

A few minutes later, Castiel trudged down the road with two bottles of rum tucked inside his jacket. He felt warmer thanks to the alcohol, and somehow happier too, if the small smile on his face was any indication. 

The happiness lasted for a few minutes before Castiel realized the downside to being slightly inebriated. 

He didn't sense the Croats coming until the very last second. 

He still managed to get away with one unharmed bottle of rum, and a few cuts and bruises here and there. The worst was his left eye, which was beginning to swell and impair his vision. It didn't hurt though, just felt a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it was because of the alcohol or his remaining grace. Maybe both. How humans could cope with living with such fragile bodies, Castiel would never know. 'Well, I guess I would know soon enough,' he thought with a bitter chuckle. 

He could only hope now that the last of his grace also protected him from being infected. Because if it didn't, and he returned to camp infected, there was no doubt in his mind that the last thing he would see was the barrel of Dean's gun. If that were to happen, well, he'd be glad to die by Dean's hands. 

+++ 

After a few more hours of walking, he could feel the chill creep into his bones again. The alcohol was wearing off, which was a shame really, especially now that it would be nighttime pretty soon. But now the cold wasn't his biggest problem. He could feel his limbs start to ache, and oh, okay maybe it wasn't just a few cuts and bruises. Maybe that ache in his torso was a cracked rib or two. 

Castiel tried to ignore the pain in his body as he walked a few more miles. The sun was beginning its descent in the sky when Castiel stopped in the middle of a snow-covered field. His feet refused to take another step and his body just wouldn't move. With one long exhale, Castiel knew it was over. 

Just like that, all of his grace was gone. 

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Castiel fell to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his eyelids. He didn't dream this time, and for that he was actually glad. 

+++ 

There was an earthquake. 

Castiel opened his eyes, his head rocking back and forth gently. He was in the backseat of a jeep, bundled in several thick blankets. It was already dark out and he was still aching all over, but at least now he was warm. 

Not an earthquake then. 

“You okay back there, Cas?” 

Castiel turned his gaze to the driver's seat in front, where he could see the back of Dean's head. “Dean,” Castiel croaked. Even talking hurt. 

Dean turned to glance at Castiel for a split second before returning his gaze to the road. “You've been out cold for the last few hours.” 

“Why am I here?” Castiel asked in confusion. 

“We came lookin' for you as soon as we got back and got more ammo,” Dean said. “It was all thanks to that ugly orange jacket you're wearing that we even saw you. If we didn't, you'd have frozen to death.” 

That didn't make sense. Nobody was supposed to come back. They never came back for anyone anymore. “Why?” Castiel whispered. 

“Because,” Dean just said, as if that one word explained everything. 

Castiel closed his eyes and tried not to smile. So his Dean was still the same after all. It filled his chest with so much warmth, he wondered if this was all just one big dream. 

“Alright,” Dean said in irritation. “Some of the kids were sentimental, saying how we can't lose our angel just before Christmas. I didn't want to be the Grinch and break their hearts so we set out to find you.” 

Castiel opened his eyes in surprise. “Christmas,” he whispered. 

“Well yeah, it's Christmas Eve tomorrow,” Dean said. “Or well, today,” he said the moment he noticed the digital display on the dashboard read 12:04 AM. 

“The kids still believe in Christmas?” Castiel said in disbelief. 

“Well, they still believe in you too. It's...” Dean paused, trying to look for the right word. “...nice.” 

“Nice,” Castiel parroted. He could almost hear the smile in Dean's voice, and that alone gave him so much comfort. “Nice,” Castiel said again, letting this feeling of peace wash over him. 

A few seconds of silence passed, and Castiel found himself drifting back to sleep. He opened his eyes a few minutes later and saw Dean staring at him from the rear view mirror. 

“So, you uh, you sleep now?” Dean asked. 

Castiel cleared his throat. “I guess I do,” he said. 

“Ah,” Dean said in understanding. And it was true, though. He understood exactly what it meant. Castiel was human now. “We did our best to patch you up, but we'll let the doc have a look at you when we return. How're you feelin'?” he asked, and Castiel didn't know how to feel about the concern he heard in Dean's voice. 

“Like hell... and that's not just an expression” Castiel said with a pained grin. “Oh!” he said, remembering the bottle of rum he saved for Dean. He tried to get up but collapsed immediately when his body complained and refused to cooperate. “Ow,” he groaned. 

“Don't move,” Dean growled. “You were within an inch of death when we found you. Don't make things worse.” 

“I just remembered, I brought you something,” Castiel told him, trying not to wince as he curled to his side on the backseat. 

“The rum? Yeah, I saw,” Dean said, patting the overflowing glove compartment where the bottle of rum was wedged on top of a couple of handguns. “Thanks, I guess. This one's better than what we have back at camp.” 

Castiel smiled. “Call it my Christmas present to you.” 

“Well don't expect anything from me,” he said a bit harshly. “I've never been big on this whole Christmas thing, let alone exchanging presents,” Dean told him. 

“It's fine. I never expected anything,” Castiel said honestly, not taking Dean's words to heart. He knew Dean for so long it was easy to tell he was just hiding his embarrassment with harsh words. It was one of his many endearing flaws. “This is more than enough,” Castiel added softly. He knew Dean heard him, and when Dean chose not so say anything about it, he was glad. 

“Get some sleep,” Dean ordered. “We still have about an hour before we get back to camp.” 

Smiling, Castiel burrowed deeper into the blankets. “Sleep sounds good.” 

+++ 

Castiel dreamed about Dean and Sam, and even that young prophet he had never met in person before. They were outside, playing in the snow. Sam was making a snowman, and Kevin was lying on his back in the snow making a 'Snow Castiel', as he said. Meanwhile, Dean was busy throwing snowballs at everybody. Kevin and Sam retaliated and soon, it was a full on snowball fight. 

Castiel stood by the side, watching their laughing faces, until Dean threw a snowball at him. It was a surprise to Castiel how much the cold stung the back of his neck. He scooped up snow experimentally and tried to make the perfect snowball. He was hit two more times by Dean but he ignored it until he thought his snow ball was sufficiently ready. 

He looked up and saw Dean ready to throw another snowball at him. He beat him to the punch, his perfect snowball landing square on Dean's forehead. It burst in Dean's face, and he fell back on the snow from the impact. Castiel found himself laughing at Dean's stunned face. 

“What are you laughing about?” Dean asked. 

Castiel opened his eyes. “Hmm?” he asked groggily, looking around in confusion. They were back in camp already, and he was sleeping in a bed in one of the cabins. Dean's cabin. 

“I said...” Dean began, wiping the barrel of his shotgun again before laying it down on the table in front of him. “What are you laughing about?” he asked, looking at Castiel on the bed. 

“I was dreaming,” Castiel said wistfully. 

“Dreaming? What about?” Dean asked, and he seemed amused by this. 

“Snow ball fights,” Castiel said. He tried to get up, momentarily forgetting his aching body. He didn't get far though, and groaned as he fell back on the bed. 

“I told you not to move,” Dean grumbled, moving to the bed to help Castiel lie back down. 

“I nailed you on the head pretty good,” Castiel said, recounting his dream. “You fell on your butt in the snow,” he said, smiling despite the pain. 

“Well it’s still snowing like it’s the Ice Age out there,” Dean told him. “You might get your chance to do it for real one of these days.” 

Castiel scoffed. “I don’t have a death wish,” he said, letting Dean adjust the pillow behind his head. 

Dean sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the layers of blankets up to Castiel’s chin. “That’s good to hear,” he said. 

Castiel was surprised by the sincerity he heard in Dean’s voice. He looked up owlishly at Dean, unsure of how to react or what to say. Dean didn’t try to avoid his gaze but said nothing as well. An awkward silence fell between them, ended only by Dean clearing his throat and getting up. “Well, rest up, because later tonight we're having Christmas dinner at the mess hall,” he said. 

“Christmas dinner?” Castiel asked. Today was just full of surprises. “Let me guess, the kids made you do it.” 

Dean shrugged. “It's nothing fancy. It's the same old crap we eat every day, but the kids are decorating the hall for it. Chuck said it'd be good for the people's morale, so why not?” Dean said. He made a move to leave but Castiel reached out and caught his hand. He turned around and looked at Castiel questioningly. 

“Dean...” Castiel said, holding Dean's hand tighter. “Thank you.” 

Dean looked down at Castiel's hand on his wrist. “For what?” 

“For coming to find me,” Castiel said. “I'm not…” Castiel paused, finding it difficult to say the words. “I’m not an angel anymore... but I will try to be useful to you...” 

Dean turned and squeezed Castiel's hand reassuringly, and that was all Castiel needed to ease his mind. “Just get some rest. We’ll talk more tonight,” Dean told him before he moved to grab his jacket. “I'm going to get more painkillers from doc. You need anything else?” 

“No,” Castiel shook his head. “All I want for Christmas is you,” he said, grinning weakly. 

“Did you just quote a song?” Dean asked, an amused smirk on his face. 

“I have no idea,” Castiel answered, feigning ignorance. 

“Right. Sure you don’t,” Dean said. 

Castiel heard Dean mutter the words, 'cheesy' and 'sap' as he walked out of the cabin, and Castiel fell asleep with the smile still on his face, and a small prayer on his lips. 

“ _Brothers, sisters, so this is what happiness feels like. I hope I’ll never stop feeling this way.”_


End file.
